


Ugly Sweaters

by testifytime



Category: Gods Will Be Watching
Genre: M/M, idek with this title, liam wears an ugly sweater so it works, so it's kinda supposed to be liam/shaman but it's only really at the end so idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/testifytime/pseuds/testifytime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My part of this year's Secret Santa, with the prompt of Liam and Shaman wearing sweaters. </p>
<p>In which Liam wears the ugliest of sweaters, and he and Shaman contemplate the safety of smothering a fireplace in tinsel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ugly Sweaters

To say the least, Liam was proud of his sweater. It was far too long for him; the hem slid part way down his thighs, the sleeves covering all but the tips of his fingers and forcing him to constantly need to roll them up to his elbows or touch things with a soft, cottony grip, and part of it _might_ even have kept slipping down his shoulder, though he was quick to catch it each time and give the sweater a little tug to put it back into place.

 

The sweater itself was a true source of ironic pride that left him snickering as he stalked through the halls of the Matriarch, chest puffed out to give everyone he passed a good view of the design. It was a horrendous green; not a colour he would have typically liked – blue suited him far better – but for the festive season the toxic-waste colour was perfect for standing out among the winter joy. Trimmed around were gold tinsel-like strips, circling his neck, the hem, and his fingertips – which he was beginning to regret now, because nothing was more irritating than having tinsel rub against your neck with each step you took. He was slightly more proud of the mud-brown reindeer on the front, topped with an especially large red nose with an actual bump in it that, when pressed, would play the most sickeningly sweet Christmas song he could find in the known galaxy. Of course, it couldn’t be Christmas without glitter, and Liam had taken that to heart; the entire toxic-green and brown mess was sprinkled with as many colours of glitter as had been on the Matriarch at the time of the sweater’s creation.

 

It was a mess. But somehow, with his chest puffed up in pride and a charming grin tugging at his lips, blue eyes filled with mirth and crows feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes, he made it a _good_ mess. Good enough that even Frank had to blink slowly for a moment to process the pure genius of the sweater, mouth flapping for words, before his face crumpled and he chuckled into his hand.

 

“You’re a child,” he’d said when Liam had stopped in front of him, beaming smile plastered on his face as he held his arms out to the side and cocked his hip to present the sweater, “You’re a worse child than Eddie.”

 

Even Burden had loved it. He’d burst into laughter as soon as he’d seen Liam coming down the heavily decorated halls, his nose crinkling in disgust at the garish colours – and the mess his coffee had made over himself as he’d tried to put it down quickly before he begun to laugh too hard.

 

All in all, it had been a good day with a successfully horrific sweater.

 

Liam smiled softly to himself as he walked towards what he’d dubbed the “relaxation quarters”. He was sure there was a far better name for it, one Shaman and, admittedly, most of the other crew  members knew, but Liam had specifically had it furnished to be a relaxation room for after hard missions, emotional days, or just a quiet place to rest. Why call it anything else? Everyone knew what he meant when he called it the “relaxation quarters”, anyway. He hummed as he turned around a corner, taking a moment to stare at the horrendously bright red and green lights that lined both the skirting and the ceiling. He should probably ask someone what it was called, anyway, just in case.

Part of him wondered who’d decorated the halls this year. Last year, when it’d been left for Burden and Jack, it had been neatly done and festive, and had actually looked so good that Jack had turned red under the constant praise from the other crew members, who were used to garish colours and sloppy decorations. He’d been tempted to ask them to do it again this year, but leaving the decorations for anyone to put up was half the fun of the holidays; they appeared overnight sometime during December, and you never knew what, or when, you’d wake up to. It seemed like this year was an odd mix between ‘sloppy and haphazard with colours so bright your eyes will melt’ and ‘some form of pattern that made it horrifyingly bright yet aesthetically pleasing to look at’. If your eyes could stand the brightness long enough to look at it.

 

Flicking a switch to open the set of doors to the relaxation quarters, which hissed open with a low, windy sound that always sounded pleasing to Liam’s ears, Liam paused in the doorway, foot stopped just a few inches above the ground as a low chuckle floated towards him from inside.

 

“I don’t even need ‘mothman powers’ to feel your presence anymore, Liam. That sweater is a presence in itself.”

 

Shaman sat slumped against one corner of the sofa situated in the middle of the relaxation room, facing away from Liam and instead staring intently at the fire, a soft, warm glow covering the front of him that faced it in an orange light, though Liam could see a small smile twitching at the corners of his lips. He snorted softly at Shaman as he walked into the room; if he had to take a wild guess, he’d say Shaman had peered at him from the corner of his eye through the goggles. Either that, or he’d been facing the door and had quickly turned away when Liam had walked in – an image that both amused Liam and seemed ridiculously likely, knowing Shaman.

 

Around them, the same garish reds and greens decorated the walls, with big loops of tinsel draping down from the ceiling all the way around the room. Someone had stuck tinsel stars along the walls, some in patterns, some a little more haphazard, as if they’d given up part way through – or perhaps someone else had taken over? It was hard to tell, but it gave the room a chaotic feel to it that he couldn’t help but laugh at. The pool table at the far end of the room was just as decorated, with loops of tinsel draping down the sides, snowflakes stuck on the wood between each loop, and, upon closer inspection, it seemed like someone had replaced the balls with baubles. The bookcase and window beside it across from the door had been given much the same treatment, the window even decorated with what looked like fake snow, and the fireplace off to the right…

 

Gods, Liam had never seen a worse fire hazard in his life.

 

“Is that even safe?”

 

Shaman barked a laugh. “Is anything ever safe, Liam?”

 

Liam huffed softly as he padded over towards the sofa, eyeing the fireplace carefully. “I don’t think having the entire thing covered in tinsel and fake snow is safe.”

 

“It’s not,” Shaman stated, raising a brow at Liam as he settled down beside him. Liam could feel the warmth radiating off of him, both from sitting in front of the fire for so long and his own natural body heat, even sitting with a space between them. “But I pulled it down, and someone put it back up. Three times.”

 

Liam hummed softly at Shaman as he shuffled closer, pressing up against his side. He drew his legs up to curl underneath himself and to the side, snuggling up beside Shaman as he dropped his head down gently to rest against Shaman’s shoulder. He could feel Shaman’s laughter as he snuggled in, and smiled softly when a warm, muscular arm curled around his waist a little awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure how to place it.

 

“I should probably have asked who was decorating this year,” Liam mused to himself, watching the fire crackle and pop in the fireplace. Small sparks flicked up every now and again, jumping dangerously close to a thin strip of tinsel, half-melted and drooping by the warmth of the fire on its closest edge, but never did it touch. He had to hand it to whoever did it; they were definitely good at positioning things to make sure they didn’t catch light. He’d have to ask around the crew to see who that was; they needed a promotion.

 

“Yes, you should have,” Shaman snorted at him, shaking his head as he watched the fire, “We need a router. That way we know who not to let decorate. Like three years ago…”

 

Shaman’s voice trailed off, but Liam shuddered at the unspoken words and the memories they arose anyway. Creatures that looked like balloons but exploded in a mess of gore if you kept them inflated for too long did not make for good decorations. How they even thought they were balloons in the first place was beyond the understanding of any of the crew. And had given everyone a slight fear of balloons since.

 

“We could always just let me decorate. I’ll give everyone standard wear sweaters and call it a day.”

 

Shaman stilled suddenly, breath not even making his chest rise and fall. Liam tore his eyes away from the sparks of the fire to peer up at him with concern – only for his face to crumple up with laughter at the deadpan look Shaman was facing him with, brow furrowed and lips pulled in a thin line.

 

“No.”

 

“No? What, just no?” Liam snorted a laugh as he covered his mouth with a hand, trying to stifle the sounds, “No rants? No reasoning? No-“

 

“ _No._ ”

 

Liam cackled into his palm at Shaman’s stern tone, knowing, behind the goggles, he was staring directly at the bulbous nose and glittering tinsel on his toxic-green sweater. “As- as if you could do better!”

 

“I have,” Shaman muttered, stopping Liam’s laughter into a slow stream of giggles and hiccups that faded into soft breaths. He furrowed his brow in confusion and pulled back, taking a good look at Shaman’s form – noting, for a moment, that Shaman’s cheeks had gone a little pink in embarrassment.

 

He was wearing a pure white sweater, white as snow, with the softest hints of golden and sliver glitter like snowfall catching the sun. A moth-like creature stood around his stomach, with another of the creatures off towards his right side, hiding behind a wall of snow. Trees dotted the area, as well as towering statues of stone with odd runes along them that rose up to his chest. Across his pectorals were more runes, written into the soft white material of the sweater. Liam couldn’t understand the language of the Op’Mahaun, but he guessed that it was a seasonal greeting of some sort.

 

“Oh,” Liam said softly, as he sunk back into position against Shaman’s side. He pressed a hand to Shaman’s chest, running a thumb over the sewn in runes with curiosity, tracing the stitches with a careful nail. Shaman’s face had only gotten redder under the appreciation of his handiwork, an awkward smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well now I feel like I’ve not done enough. I need to do bigger. Do you think I could stick one of the snowflakes on here?”  
  
Liam had barely looked up at Shaman before he was breaking down into a fit of laughter at the expression of pure disgust on his face. He turned his head and fwumped his face against Shaman’s chest, hiding his giggles and snorts into the thick, fluffy sweater as, very softly, he heard Shaman whisper “ _no_ ”.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [dusty old earth tradition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140539) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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